


Close calls

by CupidAtTheFlight



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidAtTheFlight/pseuds/CupidAtTheFlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of humorous and flirtatious shorts between our beloved Inspector and the divine Miss Fisher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Nothing to sneeze at**

_Phryne smiled at Jack, glancing at his strong arms on either side of her head. "This isn't quite how I pictured us sharing a hotel room," she murmured._

_Jack rolled his eyes, then motioned his head to Bert, who was standing at the far corner of the room. Bert nodded and reached out to grab the collar of Cec's duster jacket. As he yanked Cec toward the door, the cabbie kept his hands planted firmly over the ears of a red-faced Constable Collins. In turn, Hugh refused to relinquish his protective hold, covering a blushing Dot's ears in kind. As Bert pulled his friend toward the door, Cec backed up in small steps, with Hugh and Dot all attached – all looking a bit like a lop-sided locomotive._

_Bert yanked open the door, which creaked in protest with its aging hinges. Bert's eyes flew to Phryne._

_She threw herself against the wall and screamed, "Yes, yes, yes!" Jack sighed, but gave the wall another couple of firm shoves with his hands. Cec bit his lip to stop from laughing as the group inched out the door._

There had been no way to stop Bert and Cec from charging toward the room of the punter who offed their favorite racehorse to help fix a bet. Jack and Collins were along for the unfortunate jockey who died while riding Fair Filly Fine. As for Phryne, she had been at the races that day in a friend's box, and offered her services to the owner of the horse, and his young and handsome son.

It was poor Dot who managed to track down Punter Charlie to the neighborhood flophouse where he resided. She waited with Hugh for the inspector and Miss Fisher to arrive. But Bert and Cec caught wind of Charlie's whereabouts, and raced to take their losings out of Charlie's hide.

It was only by the grace of his long stride that Jack was able to grab hold of the cabbies and shove them into the empty, adjoining room before they crashed down Charlie's door.

"You have no idea how many men are in that room," Jack hissed at Bert, who tossed the inspector's grip from his arm.

"Shhhhh," Phryne demanded entering the shabby room. She made her way quietly to the rather filthy wall that bumped up against Charlie's hideout and leaned an ear toward it.

"Can you hear them then, Miss?" Dot whispered.

Phryne nodded. "Which means they can probably hear us as well," she said in a hushed tone.

Jack made his way silently to the wall, and leaned in near Phryne. Collins made to follow, but a rat scattered across the floor. Dot's hand flew to her mouth, but she let forth a muffled squeal and jumped toward Hugh, sending both of them flying into the moldering and sagging bed. A cloud of dust flew up from a tattered blanket and the tarnished brass headboard slammed against the wall.

"Hey oh!" Charlie yelled through the wall. "Keep your tart quiet over there!"

"Yea, you tell 'em, Charlie!" shouted another man, whose voice wore heavy with the tinge of alcohol.

Jack held up two fingers – two men at least.

Phyne nodded and turned to Hugh. She saw the very moment the young constable realized he was sitting on a bed with his sweetheart. Horrified, Hugh shot up off the bed like a canon, sending Dottie and a dusty blanket right into Cec. The headboard smacked against the wall again in protest.

"Oy! Keep it down," Charlie called. "Or me and Bud are coming over there to quiet you!"

Bert curled his fists, ready for a fight. Jack turned and lifted his hand, intending to wave Hugh outside. Instead, Phryne watched him wave both hands frantically at Cec, who was holding back an oncoming sneeze charged with the blanket's dust. Cec fought valiantly, but an explosive sneeze rocked the room.

"What wazz that?" Charlie's drunk friend slurred.

Before anyone could respond, Phryne grabbed Inspector Robinson by the lapels of his blue, wool suit and threw her back against the crumbling purple, floral-print wallpaper. "Oh yes! Right here, darling!" she moaned loudly at the wide-eyed Jack. She pointed behind her to the wall. " _Right here_ , against the wall."

Jack nodded. "Umm…anything for you…doll," he yelled.

_Doll?_  she mouthed. Jack shrugged helplessly. With an exasperated smirk, Phryne threw her back against the wall one, two, three times, yelling "Oh yes, yes, _yes_ …Archie!" she rubbed her back, certain she was bruised from her last, rather enthusiastic, yes.

Jack sighed. He reached up and gave the wall several good thumps with the palms of his hands. "That's it, _Fern_ ," he said the name almost sternly. He motioned his head for Hugh to make his way to the door. Turning, he caught sight of Collins and Dot both slack-jawed and staring. Meeting the inspector's gaze, Hugh's hands flew to Dottie's ears, hoping to drown out some of the impassioned noise.

"Ohhh, just a bit higher," yelled Phyrne, waving to Cec. The cabie turned, saw the look of panic on Hugh's face, and threw his hands over the constable's ears. He smiled at Phryne, who sighed.

Phyrne looked slyly at Jack. "This isn't quite how I pictured us sharing a hotel room," she murmured. He rolled his eyes and placed a few more slams against the wall.

Timing a few – more delicate – slams against the wall herself, Phryne motioned to Bert to move toward the door. Bert pointed to the hallway in question. "Yes, yes, YES," she said, waving her hand at Bert. He nodded, grabbed Cec's collar and edged the trio out the door.

A second later, Jack and Phryne heard the door to Charlie's room fly open, accompanied by a shout from Hugh of "Police! Don't move!"

Jack remained leaning over Phryne for a moment more. "Never took Fern for a fallen woman," he said, a small smile on his lips.

Phryne raised an eyebrow. "Seems to me Archie can take Fern anywhere he likes." She ducked under his arm and walked into the hallway.

"Lucky Archie," mumbled Jack, and followed.


	2. Tied

"Ow! Careful, Jack." Phryne yelped as the inspector twisted his arm, trying to maneuver his hand free from the thick ropes that encased it. Jack realized as he pulled the mass of elaborate knots closer to him, it also pulled Phryne's equally bound arms away from her sockets.

"Sorry, Miss Fisher," he grumbled. "I would, however, like to escape before the killer returns." He managed to loosen one of the lines of rope, nudging it toward her. Phryne grasped the loose piece and edged her fingers under it, worming it slowly free. "It's a pity we both got caught, and I cannot come to your rescue this time," he muttered.

Phryne gave the next knot a quick yank, hauling Jack's back toward her. "Rescue me? I think I've saved you from your fair share of scrapes as well, detective inspector." Her fingers dug into the knot. "Take this loop and ease it … No Jack, the other loop. That's it."

Jack guided a smaller knot through the loop and handed it back to her. "Really, what scrapes are those, Miss Fisher?" he asked. "I seem to recall pushing you out of the way of a plummeting sandbag. And distracting you from a mad ex-lover." He eased another piece of the knot loose. "Pull this under the … yes."

"You should rescue me like that more often," she teased. Moving to another twist of rope, Phryne noticed the binding loosening on wrist. "Let's see, Jack, I remember keeping you from grabbing a poison book of Yiddish songs." She wriggled one hand, managing to almost catch the knot with the second. She paused. "And most of the time I get myself out of scrapes all on my lonesome, thank you." She pulled against the rope. "Grab this piece, will you?"

"All on your lonesome?" he asked. "Like when I had to shoot Sidney Fletcher before he shot you?"

Phryne tried to turn to see Jack, but only managed to pull him along behind her. "Jack, I allowed you to shoot your ex-wife's fiancé. I think I should get some kudos for that one." Jack shrugged in silent agreement. "Plus, I managed to hit a corrupt policeman with a shovel before he shot me, and I tackled Murdock Foyle to rescue you."

"Yes," said Jack, "just before a paralyzing drug took hold of you, which would have allowed Foyle to turn you into his sacrificial pincushion." He fed the rope Phryne pushed toward him through another loop. "And it was Hugh who stopped that corrupt policeman from standing back up and taking a shot at you."

Phryne stilled. "Yes, I guess that is true." She slowly took the last length of rope from Jack and moved it toward the final loop. "Perhaps I am not as stellar in the rescuing department as I imagined."

Jack sighed at her crestfallen tone. "Nonsense, Miss Fisher. I do recall it was you who beaned Jim Creswick, and that explorer Gerald on the head. And you handled yourself quite well against a model-turned-jewel-thief." He pulled one end of the rope free. "Now if you could just feed this bit here…"

Phryne pulled. "Yes, I suppose." She freed another end.

Jack sighed. "And I imagine I have you to thank – in part – for City South having the highest closure record for murders."

"Really, Jack? Why didn't you tell me?"

Jack pulled one hand free. "Because I didn't think your ego needed it," he said simply. "You should be able to get one hand … there you go." Jack froze as a shadow loomed over them.

"Well ain't this a pretty picture?" sneered the hulking man who tied up Phryne and Jack. He stood before them, swinging the gun side to side. "Who gets it first?"

Phryne moved her hand under Jack's, and motioned one finger to brush under two of his. Jack cleared his throat and squeezed her fingers in acknowledgment. She looked at the gunman. "I'd say you," she said evenly. "Now!" she yelled.

Jack swept his legs under the hoodlum, while Phryne kicked him off his feet. His gun clattered to the ground, and Phryne pushed it away with her black, Mary Jane heels.

Pulling the last tie free, Jack rose quickly and grabbed the rope. "This should keep him in place for the ride back to the station," he said, binding the man's hands.

Phryne rubbed her raw wrists. She offered Jack her hand and he pulled her gently to her feet. "So Jack," she asked. "What do we call this one?"

They looked at the prone figure on the ground, then to one another. "A tie," they said in unison, and smiled.


	3. Major problems

_I am the very model of a modern Major-General,_   
_I've information vegetable, animal and mineral,_   
_I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical,_   
_From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical…._

"Jack," a voice called from the distance. Jack peered out into the packed audience of the auditorium, but stayed firmly in character.

_I'm very well acquainted too with matters mathematical…_

"Jack!" the voice called again, much closer this time. He glanced stage right, past the water roaring down an onstage waterfall, and there was Miss Phryne Fisher. She stood smiling, bedecked in her costumed, floral hat that Jack remembered from her few seconds rehearsing RuddyGore.

Jack sighed inwardly, but continued.

_I understand equations, both simple and quadratical…_

"Jack, I need the key!" Phryne called, "in your breast pocket!"

Rolling his eyes, Jack turned to her. "Miss Fisher, I am in the middle of a performance," he said curtly. "What will the critics say?" He waved toward the gilded auditorium. The shining spotlights slowly dimmed, and he realized the many rows of red, velvet seats now stood empty.

"What the devil is going on?" he asked, looking back at Phryne whose hat had somehow disappeared. She winked at Jack and pointed to the floor. Jack's head followed her direction, and he noticed the roaring waterfall was now pouring onto the stage. "Well, that's a mess for the propman," he muttered.

Jack heard a steady clanging of brass on metal. The sound reverberated in his ears with a hollow echo. He turned to tell Phryne to cut out the racket, and discovered she was drenched from head to foot, her right arm dangling in the air.

_Something about this isn't right_ , his brain slowly notified him. Shaking his head slightly, Jack looked back again at Phryne, who was not standing on a well-lighted stage, but apparently handcuffed to a steel bar perched above her.

"Phryne, are you all right?" he attempted to ask, but his words slurred into something more along the lines of _Phareallllllyite?_

Her head snapped back to him. "Jack!" she called with what he swore sounded like a wave of relief. He blinked several times, wishing the water would stop sounding so much like ringing in his head. Jack looked down to see he was sitting on a battered crate that would soon be underwater. Through Phryne was handcuffed to a bar above him, the water in the hold of the ship would soon reach her as well.

_The ship_ , he thought. _We came onboard the ship to find McPherson._ By the non-stop ringing in his ears and the pain now registering in his head, Jack surmised that they found him – or he found them. _Which means I was hit on the head – yet again_ , thought Jack. The ship creaked under the strain of rising water, and Jack locked eyes with Phryne. His stomach jolted as he caught the stark fear in her eyes.

Blinking back the urge to sit down and close his eyes, Jack pushed himself off the crate. He waded to Phryne and fished the keys out of his breast pocket. As Jack reached up to unlock her, a wave of dizziness engulfed him and he fell against her.

_I'm very good at integral and differential calculus, I know the scientific names of beings animalculous…_

The next thing Jack knew, they were making their way from the water, his arm draped over Phryne. "Are you quite all right, Miss Fisher?" Jack asked as carefully as he could, though his brain was screaming at him to sleep.

"Of course, Jack," she said, practically pulling him toward the Hispano-Suisa. Opening the car door, she eased him into the passenger seat. She brushed a hand gently over his head, and Jack did his best to not cringe at the pain. "We've got to get you to hospital," she said firmly, and closed the door.

"If you say so, my love, but do try to obey the speed limit," he murmured, feeling his eyelids grow heavy again.

"JACK!" Phryne yelled as she climbed into the driver's seat and reached for him. "You must not fall asleep, do you understand? You've been hit on the head – again."

Feeling her shake him lightly, Jack slowly opened his eyes and smiled. "Hello, beautiful Phryne," he said dreamily.

"You have the worst timing, Jack Robinson," Phryne sighed, and quickly slammed the car into action. "Jack!" she called to him as her rising speed whipped off her driving hat. "Jack, I need you to talk to me. Stay awake!"

Jack hummed to himself. _About binomial theorem and I'm teeming with a lot 'o news..._ "I feel we are traveling at an alarming speed, Miss Fisher," he said quietly, and felt his eyelids grow heavy again.

"That's right, Jack!" Phryne called. "So I need you to distract me!" The car nearly rose on two wheels as she whirled around a corner. Phryne yanked the wheel to avoid a slow-moving fruit cart meandering in the road. Jack's eyes snapped open as his shoulder fell against the car door.

"Distract you, Miss Fisher?" he asked.

Phryne never took her eyes off the road. "I need you to sing, Jack!" she called, silently thanking her lucky stars Mac's hospital was only blocks away. She looked over at him. "Come on, Jack. 'I know our mythic history, King Arthur's and Sir Something-ac'."

" _Sir Caradoc_ , Phryne," he said. A moment later, his voice tumbled out in a low song, "I know our mythic history, King Arthur's and Sir Caradoc's, I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox."

Phryne smiled and joined in. "I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of Heliogablus, In conic I can floor peculiarities parablous," they sang loudly. And together they raced along the road at break-neck speed – Gilbert and Sullivan in their wake – to safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jack, his noggin really does take a beating on the show.


	4. It Happened One Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a confession. I adore the movie It Happened One Night with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. So I could not help it, I had to put Jack and Phyrne in the classic cabin scene from the movie. Forgive the dialogue adjustments. All rights go to Kerry Greenwood for the characters and to Columbia Pictures and screenwriter Robert Riskin's rapid-fire dialogue from the movie.

The pounding sounded at the door of the small cabin.

It was a miracle they had been able to hide there all night without Horace Andrews' goons finding them. Though Jack imagined the torrential rainstorm had more to do with it than divine intervention. And spending the night with Phryne Fisher – though he had insisted on sleeping on the rickety, wooden chair – had certainly left Jack with thoughts of which few angels would approve.

The relentless knock came again, more urgently this time. Jack watched Phryne eye her purse on the worn desk, or more aptly the  _gun_  inside her purse. Without a thought, Jack grabbed Phryne's arms and shoved her down on the little chair that had been his bed for the night.

She shot him a look of pure defiance, and opened her mouth to surely put him in his place, but Jack pre-empted any lashing she was about to give by reaching up and ruffling her smooth, black bob into a frizzy tangle.

Phryne emitted a squeak of outrage as Jack grabbed a comb from the pocket of the vest he was discarding. He thrust the comb into her hands. "Uh, yeah, I got a letter from Aunt P last week," he shouted, loud enough for the hulking men outside to hear. "She says if we don't stop over in Abbotsford next week, she'll never forgive us."

"Open up!" a voice boomed from outside the knotted, wooden door. "Detectives!"

With a puff of exasperation, Phryne blew her wayward hair out of her face. The roll of her eyes told Jack she took offense to Andrews' hired muscle of calling themselves  _detectives._

Before she could offer a witty retort, Jack did the unthinkable and clamped his hand over her mouth. The look that pierced Jack let him know he would pay dearly for that move. "She said the baby is due next month, and she wants us to be there," he called, motioning with his head to the door.

Phryne raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, but nodded slowly. Carefully, Jack removed his hand.

"Come in!" she hollered, with a thick accent worthy of a Collingwood girl. Jack bit back a smile as the men burst into the room. She lowered her head and combed her hair into her face. "There's a man to see you, sweetheart."

Jack picked up his vest and made to pull it on when he stopped. He looked at the bigger of the two men standing on either side of the rather frightened landlord, the same one who had rented the cabin to "Mr. and Mrs. Archie Jones" the night before. "Who me? You want to talk to me?" he asked.

The brute ignored Jack and peered at Phryne, who was intensely fluffing her hair into her face. "What's your name?" he practically growled.

Phryne peered up at him through a mask of hair. "Are you addressing me?"

"Yeah," said the man whom Phryne decided to mentally nickname Neanderthal Ned. "What's your name?"

As the Neanderthal Ned leaned toward her, Jack quickly stepped in front of Phryne. "Hey, wait a minute! You're talking to my wife! You can't walk in here and …" Jack stared at the man – stared  _up_ at the man to be more exact – and said in a low voice, "What do you want, anyway?"

Neanderthal Ned gave Jack the once over. "We're looking for somebody," he said, letting Jack know he wasn't the least bit convinced it wasn't the woman seated before him. The second brute, whom Phryne quickly dubbed Cro-Magnon Curt, stepped behind Ned.

"Well, look your head off," Jack snapped, "but don't come bustin' in here. This isn't a public park." He sized up the man who stood roughly a foot higher than Jack."I got a good mind to sock you right in the nose."

Cro-Magnon Curt seemed willing to take a softer approach. "Take it easy, son. Take it easy." His eyes fell on Phryne, then narrowed suspiciously. Pulling a sketch from his pocket, he held it up and glanced back to Phryne.

The landlord peeked around Cro-Magnon Curt, his eyes darting nervously from the brutes to Jack. "These men are detectives, Mr. Jones," he said quietly, as way of an explanation.

Jack snorted in a most un-Jack-like manner. "I wouldn't care if they were the whole police department. They can't come in here and start shooting questions at my wife!"

Phryne shrugged her shoulders and went back to teasing her bob in a way she hoped her hairdresser Laurent would be able to repair. "Don't get excited, dear. They just asked a civil question."

Grabbing the back of her chair, Jack leaned in to obscure the unceasing examination the men were giving Phryne. "There you go again! How many times did I tell you to stop butting in when I have an argument?"

Phryne sniffed and spun back to the desk in a huff. "Well, you don't have to lose your temper!" she shouted.

Jack tossed up his arms and threw a mocking nod at her. " _You don't have to lose your temper!_ "he mimicked, and thought he caught her biting her lip to hold back a laugh. Jack propped his hands on his hips. "That's what you told me the last time too. Every time I step in to protect you. Like at the Digger's dance when that big Swede made a pass at you…."

Phryne tossed the comb on the desk. "He didn't make a pass at me! I told you a million times!"

Cro-Magnon Curt and Neanderthal Ned exchanged glances, and Ned shrugged.

Seemingly oblivious to the men in the room, Jack raised his voice another decibel. "Oh, no! I saw him! He kept pawing you all over the dance floor!"

Phryne jabbed a finger toward Jack. "He didn't! You were drunk!"

Jack gave one loud laugh. "Ha! So now I was drunk! I'm sorry I didn't take another sock at him." He looked at the lurking men, whose expressions had transformed from curious to mildly uncomfortable. Cro-Magnon Curt peeked again at the sketch, his brow furrowed. Jack leaned in and motioned to Phryne. "You can take a girl out of Collingwood, but you can't take Collingwood out of the girl! Not an ounce of brains in her whole family."

Throwing her face into her hands, Phryne sniffled and began the loud mews of crying. "Now you've gone too far! I won't stand for this!" she sobbed into her hands.

The landlord quickly stepped in front of Cro-Magnon Curt. "Now see what you've done?"

The goon looked down and pushed his hat back on his head. "Sorry, mister," he said, the earnest apology almost catching Jack by surprise. "She sure looks like the lady we're looking for."

Jack went back to fastening the button on his vest. "Yeah, well too bad you aren't looking for a Collingwood girl," he snapped before turning to Phryne. "Quit bawling! Quit bawling!"

Her sobs gurgled into what Jack could swear was choked laughter.

The so-called detectives turned to leave, with the landlord guiding them. "I told you they were a perfectly nice, married couple," he admonished the giant men. The door closed behind softly them.

Phryne's fake sobs subsided and she adjusted her hair promptly away from her smoky eyes. "Perfectly nice couple?" she said, a sly grin forming on her lips.

Jack reached over to grab his coat. He cleared his throat and stepped toward Phryne. "Miss Fisher, I must apologize for forcing you into the chair, and … well … for everything that occurred in the last few minutes."

Phryne stood up slowly, brushing her hand along his vest as she rose. "Now, Jack," her sultry voice practically purred, "what is a good marriage without a couple of dust-ups?" her teasing tone made Jack's lips twitch into a half smile.

Leaning into him, Phryne whispered, "Tell me." Jack visibly struggled with her proximity, fighting the flood of things he had wanted – but resisted – doing throughout the long night before.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, Miss Fisher?" he said, trying not to hear the slight crack in his voice. Phryne smiled.

"My lipstick, Jack," she said softly. Jack's eyes dropped to her ruby lips and back to her sea-green eyes. "Is it …" Phryne paused, and then cocked her head and asked with a voice flooded with accusation. "Is it smeared from when you  _clapped_  your hand over my mouth?"

Jack flinched. He shook his head slightly. "No, Miss Fisher, it is not."

"That's good," she said sweetly. Phryne grabbed her bag and headed toward the door. Swinging the strap over her arm, she smiled at Jack. "Come along, hubby, dear. Even Collingwood girls need to eat." Jack pursed his lips in a smile. He slipped Phryne's arm into his, and together they walked out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see the original, check out It Happened One Night (1934) A Perfectly Nice Married Couple on Youtube.


End file.
